The Call
by missadie
Summary: She didn't know when it stopped ticking, only that it sounded like it would explode any second, if she didn't answer it now...


**Disclaimer:** The good folks at NBC, Dick Wolf, and etc. own these characters. The plot-line is of my own creation. Any original characters as well. "The Call" is by Regina Spektor and is a lovely song.

**Author's Note:** Hi everyone. I hope that you enjoy the story. Please, review that's really how I know if anything should be changed. I'm really not adverse to _constructive_ criticism. Thank you all for reading. I'm eager for any feedback. Elliot is not retired. So, this is post season 12 but AU. Cheers! (:

_it started out as a feeling_

_which then grew into a hope_

_which then turned into a quiet thought_

_which then turned into a quiet word_

_Negative._

The white stick seemed so light in her hand when Olivia originally tugged it out. Now, it seemed different. Now, the white stick seemed to weigh so heavily in her hand. The two fingers that she twirled it between could barely balance the damn piece of plastic. The fate of the next eighteen years was stuck on one little word. Eight letters had determined eighteen years. Granted, she hadn't expected it to disappoint her so much. The doctor had said that it could take more than one try. She shouldn't raise her hopes. At forty-three, Olivia knew that her chances of conceiving on the first try were ... slim.

Olivia wasn't sure when her biological clock stopped working. One morning, she woke up and realized that it had stopped ticking altogether. Menopause hadn't set in, but she had stopped hearing the ticking. The yearn had simply burned away. She wasn't desperate to have children anymore. If she was, Olivia had simply stopped fighting "the good fight." She supposed it was after Calvin was taken away. The satisfaction of being a mother had been fulfilled. She felt the joy of packing lunches; saying 'goodnight' and 'good morning' everyday. Olivia knew why women posted crayon drawings on the fridge. It wasn't that they were Louvre worthy, but they were gifted especially to Mommy. They deserved respect for every guest to see, she was proud of the Crayola markings.

In an instance, she didn't have anymore new drawings or lunches to pack. She forgot to consistently grocery shop. The food would just spoil anyway. In a sense, Olivia had allowed her apartment to return to it's form state of 'being'. The essence of 'living' had been sucked from it.

Annoyed, she tossed the stick into the waste pail and placed some toilet paper atop of it. The last thing that she wanted was a constant reminder. Quickly washing her hands, Olivia grabbed the towel and scrubbed them dry. As she stood in front of the mirror, she sighed tiredly. When had life rushed by her? She hadn't taken a moment to stop and analyze her life. Olivia had happily worked her job. It gave her satisfaction. She was content. Yet, when was she ever really and truly happy? Biting her lip, Olivia stared at herself. Deep dark circles hooded her eyes, she looked ragged. She took a deep breath and shook her head. The doctor swore that she needed to take better care of herself. It would never work, if she didn't even try. Squaring her shoulders, Olivia ran a hand through her hair and then opened the bathroom door.

Silently, she decided that today would be a new day. Today, she would turn it all around!

Holding the pen between two fingers, Elliot Stabler tapped at his high stack of paperwork. He shouldn't had gone home last night. Yet, he had promised Kathy that he would try harder. He always promised Kathy the same routine. He would try harder, they would work it out, the kids would seem him more, he'd help around the house, the front step on the porch would get fixed, and of course, they'd have sex this weekend. In hindsight, Elliot wasn't sure what the hell he had been thinking!

Elliot could barely handle the stack of paperwork in the prescient. There were some nights that Olivia was sympathetic and helped him. Lately, she hadn't been so understanding. Elliot supposed that she was PMSing. The scowl on her face couldn't had come from him. He had attempted to be on his best behavior since the Calvin incident. And that was a true task. Yet, Kathy had to understand that he was exhausted. His job didn't include filing paperwork all day. Elliot had a physically demanding job. She wasn't chasing after him for sex while he was a Marine. Okay, she was but the uniform was irresistable. Elliot could admit that. There were nights that Elliot avoided the bedroom, because he could see the glow of candlelight from upstairs. That was the problem.

Kathy liked to 'make love.' Elliot wasn't that sort of guy. He wasn't the 'get in and get out' sort of man, but he just didn't appreciate candles and soft music. Elliot always thought it was rehearsed and reminded him of bad porn movies. Kathy never agreed and often subjected him to the humiliation of both. Plus, after a long week, she wanted hours of foreplay. To some degree, Elliot wanted to touch his wife. The problem was, after chasing perps all week and interrogating sick assholes, he really didn't want to make out and fool around for two hours. He really wanted to take out his aggression ... and not on a punching bag. Many weekends, Elliot had gotten to the point of feigning a headache or worse ... faking a quick orgasm. His pride was deeply wounded, but Elliot couldn't handle it anymore! If he had to listen to "Sexual Healing" one more time, he would volunteer to see Huang.

Elliot swore as a hand rested on his shoulder. It drew him from his thoughts and roused him. An amused brow quirked, Olivia quickly narrowed her eyes in question. He shook his head and smiled lightly in greeting. It was Friday. While most were grateful for the weekend, Elliot hoped that they would get a case to tie them over for the weekend. He needed some excuse to stay away from Marvin Gaye and vanilla scented candles. His poor dick couldn't handle the emasculation again tonight.

"Where did you go?" Olivia asked lightly and took a seat in her chair. It squeaked beneath her and she leant back further. The squeaking increased and she took a sip of her tea. The steam rose in front of her face.

He frowned at her tea, "Thanks for the coffee."

She remained silent and pointed at the corner of the his desk. A travel cup sat the edge and steam rose from the small opening. He didn't apologize but grabbed the cup instead, "Thanks."

Shaking her head, Olivia placed her tea down and grabbed a file from his high stack, "Slacker."

Elliot hid his smile, point for him.


End file.
